


Even Children Get Older

by redtailedhawk90



Category: The Room Where It Happened (Podcast)
Genre: Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Memory Wipe, Spoilers for Ep 78
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtailedhawk90/pseuds/redtailedhawk90
Summary: Corra makes a familiar decision; Tseer tries to comfort her.





	Even Children Get Older

Tseer is listening for it, and so he hears when Otto gets home from When You Wish Upon A Star without Corra.  He dog-ears the page in the book he’s reading--not that he’d gotten very far into it. It’s a dense textbook on magic he had borrowed from Wyatt, and he’s been staring at the same page for the last half hour, unable to focus on any of the words.  Sighing, Tseer stands and walks over to where Wyatt is sitting at his workbench, muttering equations to himself. He slides his arms around Wyatt’s neck and gently bumps the back of his head with the top of his own.

Most days, Tseer can almost forget about his parents, about how he had Otto bundle them up in the middle of the night and whisk them off to some unknown location.  

He hates how easy it is to not think about it.

But with Corra now making the same decision, it seems it’s the only thing on his mind.  Tseer remembers how isolating it was, how terrible he had felt, for so long after. He also remembers sitting in his parents’ field with Orron and Tessa, watching Broderick’s body burn on a makeshift pyre, and feeling that pain be lessened, at least for a little while.

Wyatt pauses in his work and grabs one of Tseer’s talons in his hands, lifting it to his lips to kiss it.  “Are you okay?” he asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the scales.

“Otto is back,” replies Tseer, unmoving.  “That means it’s done.”

Wyatt swivels his chair around in Tseer’s arms so that they’re face to face, his hands settling on Tseer’s waist.  His brow is furrowed in confusion. “What’s done?”

Tseer pulls back a little.  He and Wyatt never talk about his parents.  It’s an unspoken wound between them, too tender to touch.  It occurs to Tseer that no, he never told Wyatt about what Corra was planning to do.  It had been easier to let Wyatt stay absorbed in his research, to hide it like he did so many things.  A lump grows in his throat and he swallows. He tucks a strand of hair back from where it’s fallen out of Wyatt’s topknot, and makes a decision.

“Corra has sent her parents away, out of the city,” Tseer says.  Wyatt’s hands tighten on his hips, a reflexive flinch before he relaxes again.  “Otto has just come back from the dream den. Corra wanted to forget where she took them.”

“I see,” replies Wyatt, his voice carefully neutral.  His eyes are focused just above Tseer’s head, his jaw flexing as he clenches it, and, ah, there it is.

“Don’t do that,” Tseer says softly.

“Do what?”

“I can hear you hating yourself from out here.”  Tseer grabs Wyatt’s chin gently, and Wyatt reluctantly meets his gaze.  

“If it hadn’t been for me--” Wyatt begins, but Tseer cuts him off.

“If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have done it anyway.”  He raps his own head with the knuckles of his free hand.  “Paranoid, remember?”

“Yeah, but--”

“No.”  Tseer tightens his grip on Wyatt’s chin, but his voice breaks as he speaks, betraying the hard gaze he tries to summon.  “Look, I can’t fight both our self-loathings right now, okay? Can you just...can you just…?” His throat has become too thick for him to force the words out, so he stops.  He lets go of Wyatt so he won’t feel him trembling and stands there, fists clenched by his sides and feathers pulled tight to his body.

Wyatt makes a noise in his throat and drags Tseer down, into his lap.  He wraps his arms around his torso, under his wings, and peppers Tseer’s face and neck with kisses.  “I’m sorry,” he breathes with each one. “I’m so sorry.” Tseer doesn’t know whether Wyatt is apologizing for his reaction, or for the past, but he decides it doesn’t matter.  He lets himself relax into Wyatt’s embrace, lets himself be held, lets himself be comforted.

Some time passes, but eventually Tseer pulls away.  Wyatt kisses his forehead, and then the front of his beak, before letting him stand.

“I’m gonna go check on Corra,” Tseer says, clearing his throat, and begins rummaging around the explosion of machine parts and paper on Wyatt’s desk.  He makes a satisfied grunt when he finds what he’s looking for: a handle of vodka. It’s a new one, since Tessa drained the last of their stash, but it’s still less full than he last remembers seeing it.  There’s enough in it for his purposes, at least. Wyatt looks for a minute like he’s going to object, but then presses his lips together and nods.

“Be safe,” he says instead.  “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tseer replies, giving Wyatt one last hug before he leaves.

Tseer gets the address from Otto and flies out to the suburbs.  When he lands on the neatly manicured lawn, he feels a rush of memory so powerful it takes his breath away.  How long has it been? Fourteen months? Eight months for everyone else. He still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that the six months he and Wyatt had spent in the feywild had happened in the span of ten minutes here, on this plane.  

It’s been fourteen months, and still he remembers clear as day stepping out of the van with Tessa and Orron and standing in front of his parents’ home.  It had looked the same as it always had, but knowing that it was empty, Tseer’s heart had quaked.

“The field around back should be empty,” he’d said, hoping they could avoid going in the house entirely.  They set up Broderick’s pyre and Orron lit the kindling, sending his mentor and friend off the best he knew how.  When Orron expressed regret at being unable to perform the ritual fighting Moradin requested, Tseer recalled the anniversary gift he had given to his parents that year.  

He made his way, alone, back to the cottage, and let himself in the front door.  It was cold and dark and quiet inside, so contradictory to the warm, comfortable coziness and constant activity he always associated with visits home.  Everything was in disarray--his parents had left in a rush, in the dead of night--but he found the bottle of scotch on the mantle, where it sat in a place of honor.  His parents had been saving it for a special occasion.

They probably wouldn’t miss it.

He took the bottle out to his friends, and they drank until the fire burned all the way down and the sun rose.

Tseer shakes the memory off with a ruffle of his feathers and rings the doorbell.  When Corra answers, her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but she doesn’t send him away.  He gives her the handle of vodka and follows her back into the living room, taking a seat next to her on the couch.  They drink in silence for a while, the silence interrupted only by Corra’s sniffles. Tseer puts his arm around her and she rests her head on his shoulder.  

“Does it get easier?” she asks, finally.

“No, not really,” Tseer replies simply.  “You just get...busy.”

Corra sucks her teeth.  “You mean you forget.”

“No.  I mean--”  He pauses. “I mean, there’s a lot of shit happening right now.  I know that they’re safe, wherever they are, and that lets me focus on all the other stuff that we’re doing without having to worry about them, too.”

“What do you mean, ‘wherever they are’?” she asks after another long silence.  “Otto said they gave you their location.”

Tseer barks a laugh.  “They gave me a piece of paper with the address, yes,” he says.  “But I burned it without looking at it. I couldn’t trust myself.”  He rubs her shoulder a little. “I know you know what that’s like.”

Corra makes a noncommittal noise and sniffles some more.  Tseer’s gi is already soaked through, but he doesn’t move.  Instead, he busies himself with scanning the room for the umpteenth time.  He can read the labels on the record collection from here: they’re meticulously kept, and in alphabetical order besides.  He imagines Corra’s dads putting on some music and twirling about the living room, happy in the home that they made. It’s a warm thought, and he’s feeling pretty relaxed, thanks to the vodka, which is why he finds himself standing up and picking out an album.  He looks over his shoulder to make sure it’s okay, and although Corra looks confused, she nods at him to go ahead.

As soon as the needle touches the vinyl, an old up-beat pop song fills the room.  Tseer takes Corra’s hand and pulls her to her feet, leading her to the center of the room.  He knows full well that he can’t dance--the bit of ballroom Wyatt has taught him notwithstanding--but that isn’t the point.  He flails his arms, stomps his feet, and jumps and spins like he hasn’t since he was an eyas. Corra’s lip twitches. Emboldened, he brings his wings around him in a circle, primaries touching, and begins to bob up and down in time with the music.  He turns it into a game of peek-a-boo, ducking behind his feathers and coming up with a new ridiculous expression each time.

And, wonder of wonders, Corra smiles.

Soon, they’re both singing at the top of their lungs, jumping on the furniture, and generally behaving like fools.  Tseer grabs Corra’s hands and twirls them both in a frenzied circle. Corra shrieks with laughter, tears coursing down her face, until finally begging him to stop.  They collapse to the floor, exhausted and giggling, his head pillowed on her stomach and her hand in his. By the time the record reaches the end, they’ve got their breath back.  

After a few more moments of companionable silence, Tseer rolls to his feet and wets a washcloth from the kitchen, bringing it back so Corra can clean her face.  He kneels next to her as she sits up and washes away her tears. Then, together, they slowly clean up the room, putting everything back in its place, and close up the house.  He rides with her on the bus back to town, and helps her sneak back across the river by the time night falls.

She’s nearly falling asleep on his arm when they walk into the club.  He guides her all the way to her room, only letting go of her hand when Otto comes to the door and takes her from him.  She looks over her shoulder at him before closing the door and gives him a weak smile.

“Hey,” she says.  “Thank you.”

He dips his head.  He wants to say something comforting like, _You did the right thing_ or _They’ll be okay_ , but he also doesn’t know if those things are true.  He probably wouldn’t believe them, if someone said them to him.  So instead he says, “Sleep well, Corra,” and he makes his way back to his room, back to Wyatt, and tries to forgive himself.


End file.
